


Pieces, Redux

by pratz



Category: Orange is the New Black
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:47:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23011990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pratz/pseuds/pratz
Summary: "My body screams when it parts from yours."Alex and Piper before Paris. Originally on FFNet (Jul' 13 - Apr '14). Full fic on my LJ.
Relationships: Piper Chapman/Alex Vause
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Pieces, Redux

**Author's Note:**

> A reworked version of Pieces. First posted on FFNet (Jul '13 - Apr '14), the original version is still available on my friends-only LiveJournal.

**Book I**

**I’m not flirty. I’m direct.**

**===**

**== One. Welcome to Lesbianville ==**

_‘Welcome to Lesbianville USA!’_

_It’s been four years since she moved here, and every time still she wants to laugh at the familiar bumper sticker on a car in front of hers. Really, Northampton and its terrific tolerance for every thing rainbow are amazing. Perhaps only good ol’ San Francisco can rival it. It doesn’t matter if one is a little bit swinging for the other team, falling on the far end of the Kinsley’s Scale, or downright unicorn. Northampton’s ample bosom embraces everyone._

_Including you,_ _her inner voice pipes up._ _Including you, Piper Chapman. You’re twenty-two, single, and considering calling a stranger who approached you first. Which is stupid, if I may say. One, she’s hot. Two, why are you considering an offer for a lady loving anyway?_

_Well._

_She comes to that bar that day with a half-assed resume, looking for a job because her pride is too big to handle asking money from her mother. She is prepared for one or two raunchy comments or catcalls from bar patrons. She is prepared to suck face and commit herself to whatever table waiting job is available for her. She is, however, not prepared to get a phone number from a woman who declares that she is working for an international drug cartel, dresses like young Linda Ronstadt slash Amy Winehouse sans the creepy eyes and the washed-out expression, and openly_ _flirts with_ _her._

_Alex Vause. Like ‘pause’ but with a V because she likes the V._

_Oh great. Look at her now, grinning in the middle of Smith College’s parking lot because of that crude joke which doesn’t sound crude at all coming from Alex’s mouth._

_See? And yet you’re still here, looking at that napkin as if it’s a piece of the goddamn Commandment logs. C’mon. Have the guts to take some baby steps. That’s all you need._

_She stares at the paper napkin for a long time, seeing the number and, most importantly, registering the red lipstick mark at the corner, left by the most inviting pair of lips she’s ever seen._

_She draws a deep breath._ _Fuck baby steps. This is one giant leap for mankind._

_=.=.=_

**== Two. Are You Gonna Go My Way? ==**

The same piece of napkin, now yellowish, plastered onto the door of her fridge catches her eyes.

Piper loves Pioneer Valley to no end, but she can live without the chilly mornings, the icy nights, the occasional tropical cyclones, and the ofttimes blizzards of Massachusetts winter. She is jolted as her feet touch the wooden floor of her apartment. _Talk about winter_. Teeth chattering, she walks to the kitchen to make herself her morning coffee. _How quiet_ , she thinks. Her roommate hasn't been back from spending her winter break with her family. From the window, she can see the world of white outside, remainder of last night's unwanted but unsurprising blizzard. Gone is the picturesque charm of Northampton; her neighborhood looks like the Man Above has just dumped a giant bucket of inedible marshmallows out of spite.

She goes back to her bed, looking for her phone and pressing number 2 for a quick dial of the same number from that yellowish piece of napkin. Alex's gruff, sleepy voice wafts through the fairly decent after-the-storm transmission.

“Good morning,” she begins.

"I'm still sleeping." And the jerk hangs up on her.

“The fuck,” she mumbles, dialing again. One ring, two ring.

After the third ring, Alex picks up again. "Jesus, what do you want?"

What does she want, eh? Answering _'I just want to say good morning'_ will make her sound annoying. Answering _'I just want to remind you to stay warm in this weather'_ will make her sound somehow thoughtful, but no less annoying. Answering _'I just want to hear your voice'_ will definitely make her sound needy even though that's probably the truth. So she settles with a lame “Jesus just wants to let you know that my apartment is freezing.”

"Then turn on your goddamn heater."

"I did, I did. But it’s still cold."

There's a rustling sound followed by a muffled groan. "Told you not to buy that one. Invest in good stuff."

She nods even though Alex can't see her. "Yeah. Okay. Just wanna tell you to stay warm when you’re back here, alright."

"Been doing that since last night."

That is unexpected. "When did you get back in town?

"Told you: last night." Alex yawns, and Piper imagines that Alex rubs her eyes with the back of her hand. "Look, I need to catch some sleep. See you later? Bye."

What a crude see-you-later. Damn Alex the Charming Jerk—charming, but still a jerk who is not a morning person, who has the knack to spot insincerity in people, who has the ability to call people out on their bullshit without flinching.

Her phone beeps, indicating a text message. From the jerk. / _Cook something, Gordon Ramsay, but leave the wine to me. Love, Robert Parker./_

Who, despite her affinity for dry humor, knows how to make Piper smile.

=.=.=

Five o'clock in the evening, the jerk, ever punctual, shows up on her door.

Okay, she needs to think of a new nickname for Alex. Charming Jerk works just fine, but with the four-year old Chilean Cono Sur 20 Barrels cabernet sauvignon in her hand, it now seems the nickname needs to be upgraded. Persistently Dedicated Charming Jerk, perhaps? Too long?

Alex kisses her on the cheek and ushers herself in, cursing as a mild blast of chill hits her the minute she's in the apartment. "You seriously need to leave this fucked up place."

She takes the limited edition wine from Alex, feigning a hurt expression. "Last week you called my resume a total bullshit. Now it's my apartment. Next is going to be my food, I guess?"

Alex smirks. "Nah, never that.” She sniffs the aroma in the air. "What do you have, Chef Ramsay?"

"Lamb with rosemary and port," she says. "Go sit and find whatever show you want, and I'll bring the plates." She sets the lamb on two plates, brings them to the couch, and goes back to get two wine glasses. Alex is standing in the middle of her living room, examining her bookshelf. "Find anything you like?"

"I'm more of a non-fiction person," Alex says, sitting next to her on the couch.

The moment Alex takes off her shearling-collared, cotton gabardine Burberry trench coat that hugs her waist and accentuates the dark spill of her hair and shows what she wears underneath, she knows that Alex's new nickname has to be Charming Sexy Jerk. Because, well, anyone who can wear a tight-fitting Pink Floyd t-shirt with a low neckline—like really, really low—and effortlessly look like a model deserves to be called that, right?

Piper clears her throat and raises her glass for a toast. "Here's to a day when you hopefully start reading fiction."

The Charming Sexy Jerk grins. "Amen to that."

Dinner is devoured as a rerun episode of _That 70's Shows_ plays on Piper's TV. Alex doesn't seem to pay attention to the show, and halfway through the show, she flips the channel to _The West Wing_.

Piper raises her eyebrows. "You don't strike me as a person who likes politics."

"I prefer political adrenaline rush to a sitcom about dating your redhead neighbor," Alex says, though she still doesn't pay attention to the TV. "All the deals, the conflicts. Blew my mind. ‘Politic is an honorable adventure.’ That's quoting Evan Thomas quoting Bobby Kennedy quoting Lord Tweedsmuir for you."

She blanches. "I didn't know you're into the Kennedys."

Alex laughs, though not condescending. "You're a Massachusetts native. You don't only hear shits about them, right? Come on."

“No, not only shits. Just bigger shits. But thank you for sharing your interest with me.”

Alex leans toward her, and their height difference, though only a couple of inches, lands Piper in an uncomfortable position of staring right at Alex's lips. "And that's one more thing you know about me," she half whispers. She appears to notice Piper’s nervousness quickly, because she leans back to give Piper some distance. "No funny business. I get it, I get it." Smirking, she pushes her horn-rimmed glasses up her hair, and Piper stares. And she knows it. And that's why she smirks even more.

_Shit_. Charming Sexy Jerk is now officially Charming Super Sexy Jerk. Piper coughs to hide her embarrassment. "Is that new? Your glasses, I mean."

"Yeah. Left the old ones in a bar in Santorini."

"Santorini? As in Santorini, Greece?" She almost can't hold back from gushing out her enthusiasm. "I've always wanted to go to Greece, you know. I promise myself one day I'll leave this place and go on a round-the-world trip."

"Why don’t you? Just go. Leave this crappy city."

"Hey, no lesbian shall offend Lesbianville," she mock-scolds.

"I can take you to Greece." Alex takes a sip of her wine. "If you want," she adds.

"If you travel a lot, why don't you wear contacts?" Piper says. "I mean, it's more convenient."

Alex shrugs. "Don't like it."

"Why? Have a dirty little secret you need to hide, Clark Kent?"

Alex tips down her glasses, and her eyes are intense behind them. "Maybe."

_Oh fuck Clark Kent. This is kryptonite. She's_ _a_ _fucking kryptonite. If she keeps staring at me like that, I'm gonna jump her and I won't be responsible for—stop, Piper Chapman. Stop._

Sitting even closer despite her earlier words of promising no funny business, Alex squints as she notices a faint line of gash that runs across two of Piper's knuckles. She takes Piper's hand in hers and brings it to her lips. Piper's eyes widen and only her dignity keeps her jaw from dropping, because the Charming Super Sexy Jerk kisses her healed knuckles gently, once, twice, while she stares at Piper fixedly, smolderingly over the top of her horn-rimmed glasses. She finishes with a small, wet lick as the tip of her tongue grazes Piper's skin.

"There," she says softly. "A kiss to make it better."

When Piper can speak again, her voice is rough. "Was that—" she swallows, "was that you being your charming self or you seducing me?"

“Both.” Alex laughs a little. "Did that work?"

"Which one?"

"Both."

Piper draws a deep, deep breath—she's been doing that more often lately when it comes to Alex. "Yes." She takes another deep breath. "Fucking _yes_."

=.=.=

Alex comes knocking on her door again in spring, her white Miata1 ready behind her. "Where to, miss?" she asks as she sits behind the wheel and Piper settles herself next to her.

She can't help a shiver as Alex's hand finds her knee and squeezes. _No funny business my foot_ , she thinks. Hell, she _wants_ the funny business, being left with only phone communication for almost four whole months2 for whatever non-funny business Alex runs for whatever international traders.

"Playing Jack after Clark now?"

Alex puts on her seatbelt, winking. "Even Kate Winslet isn’t gonna do you justice."

_You charming jerk._ Piper places her hand over Alex's and leans closer to whisper in her ear, "You know Jack and Clark have the wrong part for me."

Alex snickers, somehow caught off guard, and for the first time Piper relishes in gaining the upper hand. She turns on the radio, finding a station that is playing Lenny Kravitz's _Are You Gonna Go My Way_ ,3 and her eyes are bright behind her glasses.

=.=.=

**== Three. A Shakespearean Cliche ==**

Alex, Piper finds out, has this maddening habit of never listening to one radio station for more than ten minutes.

"Would you please stop changing the station?" she finally asks, exasperated.

Alex lets go of the radio panel, her hand now back to the wheel. "Fine," she scowls. "Be my guest and listen to fucking dickheads yapping about Bush's possible second term."4

Piper takes that as an invitation, but the second she randomly picks a station, an inappropriate slurs of _'she leakin, she's soakin' wet, shake it like a salt shaker, shake it like a salt shaker'_ comes unfiltered. Flustered, she quickly changes the station and settles on a rather lame evergreen one.

Alex's smirk is nothing but pure Charming-Super-Sexy-Jerk evil. "Yin Yang Twins too raunchy for you, Miss Prim?"

Piper slouches on her seat, her arm bumping against the door as Alex turns to a parking building at Dartmouth Street. "I'm surprised you're familiar with hip hop."

"I can surprise you even more," she says as she backs the Miata smoothly into a parking space, "given a proper time and place."

Piper gets out of the car first. "Speaking of which, I always find your salt shaker tattoo fascinating." _As in I-want-to-hump-you-from-behind-and-lick-the-sweat-off-of-you-as-we-roll-around-between-the-sheets fascinating—_ _oh_ _Jesus. What the hell, Chapman. Damn song is messing with my mind._

"Oh, this?" Alex reaches around to touch her left shoulder, uncovered by the tank top dress she decides to wear today. "It's my first tat."

They exit the building, and Piper can't help admiring the way Alex moves with easy confidence. That's not even walking, she thinks. That's strutting. Swaggering. Prowling.

"What made you decide to get that tattoo?"

Alex purses her bottom lip. "Fuck if I remember. For fun, I guess?"

"Why a salt shaker?"

"In the mood for interviewing today, eh?" Alex deliberately winks at a college student who looks at her in awe as they stand at a crossroad in busy-as-usual Back Bay, waiting for the crossing sign. The jerk does it on purpose, Piper knows.

Copley Square Farmers Market is their first stop today. Alex has teased her when she first tells her that she wants to check the only Tuesday-and-Friday market. _WASP-y, yuppy, and now holistic hipstery, too?_ Alex has asked with a smirk that belies the insult, and yet even though she may not have been as enthusiastic as Piper, Alex agrees to her proposal—hence their first day out.

Which, Piper notes, does _not_ feel like a day out at all.

Alex doesn't open the door of her car for her. Doesn't hold the parking building's door for her. Doesn't comment on her Peter Jackson's elf-styled side braid. Doesn't try to touch her again after that short-lived knee squeeze as they leave Piper's apartment. Hell, she's even more interested in fussing with radio stations during their almost two-hour ride from Northampton to Boston. Piper wonders if she does something wrong or if she's too blunt. But. That. Doesn't explain anything. Damn it.

She stops in front of a stand that sells rhubarbs, Alex half a foot away behind her. "I always love rhubarbs, you know. My grandparents—they live in the south—always make rhubarb custard cake for Cal and I. Southern style, of course."

Alex nods to acknowledge her, but instead of answering, she walks to the next stand that sells various types of apples. _C’mon, Piper. This is awkward. Think of something._ She’s guessed that Farmers Market isn't really Alex's cup of tea, but this isn't like what she has expected. Sighing, she goes back to the rhubarb seller and buys some for cake baking later. Baking is nice, she thinks. Baking never approaches a fresh-from-the-oven graduate in a bar, admits to seducing her, and downright gives her a cold shoulder in the middle of a crowded market. Baking is never a jerk.

Alex clears her throat behind her, and Piper turns around.

A smile plays on Alex's lips as she offers Piper a ripe looking, yellow apple. "A golden apple for the fairest."

Piper's let eye twitches.

This.

Fucking.

Jerk!

Should she stomp in irritation? Or be relieved? Or weep in joy? _Or flat out bone her_? her treacherous mind pipes up again.

Moving her paper bag of rhubarbs to her other arm, she takes the apple from Alex's palm. "Should I change my name to Helen now?" she says.

Alex adjusts her glasses. "Nah, Piper suits you," she says softly. "WASP-y, but I like it just fine."

Sweet Helen and Paris and all the gods, goddesses, and demigods of Ancient Greek. So she isn't the only one nervous about their day out, is she? Confident badass Alex Vause is nervous, too? Because of her? Wow.

Alex tilts her head and points at a direction with her chin. "I know you want to get something to eat in North End, but do you mind if we stop by a bookstore? It won't take long, I promise."

"No, no, it's fine. I don't mind," she answers quickly, perhaps even a bit too quickly. There's always a good chance of knowing people better from knowing the kind of books they enjoy, after all, and she can use some time to pull herself together. Really, Alex has this air about her that makes her want to either grin widely or scream in frustration. Alex is not a night fair merry-go-round. Alex is a roller coaster—of Cedar Point's Top Thrill Dragster level, that is.

This time, Alex holds the door as they reach Commonwealth Books, a small, antiquated bookstore at Milk Street. "After you, milady," she says.

The small bookstore is filled with old books and manuscripts to the ceiling. Immediately, Piper loves the place, the kind of place and smell she associates with Diagon Alley and the Hogwarts library, because hello! Even a Smith graduate can fantasize!

Which now makes her curious of what books Alex, the self-declared non-fiction reader, enjoys.

Then, as if knowing what Piper is thinking, Alex half-whispers, "I'm currently reading _The Tao of Pooh_.5 I'll check if they have similar books."

Alex turns the corner to the philosophy section. When will she stop surprising her, Piper wonders. She herself turns to the theater section. Her fondness comes from majoring in theatre,6 she thinks, and even more because people always play roles.

She’s engrossed in browsing the Eugene O'Neill collection when Alex needs to tap her on the shoulder to get her attention. "You're done?"

Alex shrugs. "Too many good books here I might trade even you for. Temptation, temptation."

She laughs and returns the book she is holding to the shelf, because she knows that dilemma all too well. "Do you like drama? As in real plays, I mean."

"I read a few," Alex replies. "Let's see." She bends to pick a book from the S shelf. Shakespeare's _Romeo and Juliet_. "Too lowbrow for you?"

Piper pushes playfully at Alex's shoulder—the first contact she initiated in hours, and she's glad that Alex doesn't seem to mind. "Peasant."

"Why yes, a barely-passing-puberty teenager falls in love with a sheltered dimwit of a princess. How groundbreaking." Alex snorts. "Shakespeare must get off from star-crossed lovers in a priapic literature."

"Good summary," she says dryly, taking the book from Alex. "Any particular lines you remember?"

"There’s something with sin and hands and lips. You know, right?"

“I think I do.” She flips the pages to said scene. "Act 1, Scene 5," she begins, opening the book wider so Alex can read along. "'O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.'

Alex's eyes meet hers. "‘Saints do not move, though grant for prayers' sake.'

And now the aisle is too narrow, the stare is piercing, and the light hold on her elbow burns.

Piper swallows, wets her lips, and reads more. "'Then move not, while my prayer's effect I take. Thus from my lips, by yours, my sin is purged.'

Alex gets close. Closer.

"'Then have my lips the sins that they have took.'

Shakespeare be damned, Piper lets out a strangled moan as Alex's lips touch hers. Gently, at first. A tentative brush, once. Then a firmer press, once and once more. At the fuller contact, she grabs Alex by the back of her neck, two-inch height difference be forgotten, too public of a place be overlooked. A wet swipe of tongue against her lips. Permission, granted. More than granted, apparently. Welcome. Wanted. Needed.

Alex is the one who pulls back first, and Piper swears she is very, very tempted to whack that shit-eating grin off of her face.

"You plan this, don't you?"

"Becoming a Shakespearean cliché? No."

"Bet you've been wanting to kiss me like that since Day One." She smacks Alex's shoulder for good measure. "Jerk."

Chuckling, Alex catches her hand and traps it between their bodies. "Bet you've been wanting to call me that since Day One."

"If you didn't run off to Greece and Benin,7 I might have done it sooner."

Alex grins even wider. "But where's the fun of it?"

_In your pants,_ she wants to say.

They leave Commonwealth Books and head to North End. Whenever Piper sees a long line of patrons outside a restaurant, Alex points out said restaurant's famous specialties. She frequents North End, she says, but that's not even the biggest plus point about her. Honestly, whenever Alex opens her mouth to say something, Piper just wants to smack her mouth—with her own.

It's a rather late lunch, but the Italian oyster restaurant Alex chooses is cozy and the meal is worth the long line. It's not until their check comes that Piper frowns. Alex secures the check even before Piper has a chance to look at it.

She raises her eyebrows. "We can go Dutch."

"No fucking way."

"I thought this is a day out."

"Well, I've upgraded it to a date."

Bless the sweet Italian white wine and curse the sneaky jerk for making her choke.

The walk back from North End to Copley Square takes about half an hour, but it's only because Alex walks slower and takes her time to touch Piper here and there. A light nudge on the small of her back. Fingertips grazing on the gap between her top and her jeans. Arms touching whenever they stop to wait for a crossing sign. An over-the-shoulder look whenever Piper stops in front of a craft store to admire its displayed handicrafts along Newbury Street. She's going to be nuts, she’s sure, driven to madness by—by—this tease of a—of a _jerk_!

_Wow, really? You can't even find another derogating name to call her with in your vocabulary? I wonder where your Smith brain goes,_ her mind mocks.

"Hey, wanna kiss again?"

Oh, of course Alex has to be so proud of her ability to nail that sentence as if she's just announcing how crowded Copley Square Farmers Market today, doesn't she? Of course she does. Piper's head snaps up quicker than she can say yes as she flings herself over the center console and meets Alex halfway in a series of clashing lips, teeth, and tongues.

"Fucking asshole," she hisses against Alex's mouth.

"It's." Kisses. "Mutual." More kisses. "Darling." And more kisses.

Then Alex's fingertips graze the beginning of the swell of her breasts, and the touch makes Piper break the kiss with a jolt. Alex, if anything, is perceptive. "Too much?" Her thumb rubs gently at Piper's nape, this time more soothing than arousing, a smile on her lips. "One step at a time, then."

Flustered and torn between wanting more and taking it slow, Piper can only nod. Alex starts the car, and the radio blares to life with the same evergreen radio on. Piper puts on her sunglasses and leans back onto the headrest. She still can't trust herself to speak, lest she says something reckless and causes Alex to lose focus and swerve to the roadside. _Where’s Freud when you need him to keep your libido in check,_ Piper wonders.

"So," Alex begins, "what's your plan for summer?"

She sighs. "My roommate asks if I'm interested to go on a road trip with her. You know, go coast to coast, visit the museums, get wasted every night, and come back totally broke."

"Neat." Alex nods. "So totally tapping into your hipster side, eh?" She takes the Massachusetts Turnpike toll road, her driving as smooth as her walking. "Where to?"

"San Fran." She turns to look at Alex. God, she’s gorgeous illuminated by the sunset over the Connecticut River. "What about you?"

"Well, I guess San Fran isn't that bad."

It takes a minute for Piper to register it, and Joan Baez aptly starts singing on the radio.

Alex gives her a thin smile. "We can rent a house, go to whatever museums you like, get drunk every night, but come back totally not broke. Sounds fun to me."

"No shit, Alex." She sits upright now. This is not because of that yellow apple or Shakespeare or Boston, right? Because, well. Fuck. "You’re serious?"

"I sure am."

Piper looks at Alex as if it's the first time. She's just a stranger in a bar. An occasional guest in her wrecked apartment. A day out companion. And today, a date. This? This will change her life, won't it? Alex will change her life, won't she? Hasn’t she?

"So... yes?"

Joan Baez sings, ' _She said, No, would you come home to me?'_

"Yes," she whispers. "Yes, okay."

=.=.=

**== Four. Best Served with Alex on Top ==**

Morning is best served with Alex on top, she learns.

Or under or beside or inside. Or whatever. She can't really decide.

"Alex—damn it—"

"Hmm?"

"—breakfast— _shit_ —"

"I'm about to have it, aren't I?"

So leave it to one red-haired girl8, too young to be of Alex’s age, to enter the apartment out of the blue, calling out, "Alex! Are you still sleeping, you lazy ass—oh Jesus Christ!"

Piper shrieks, startled and embarrassed for being caught in the act, and tries her damnedest to cover herself. Which, she realizes with a bigger start and embarrassment, is not an easy task to do, considering her shirt is nowhere to see and her shorts are stuck around her knees. She ends up pulling a still-fully-clothed Alex sideway to shield her and gain some modesty at least.

The redhead has the nerves to leer at her. "Nice butts, blondie," she singsongs wolfishly before paying attention to Alex. "New beau, eh? Well, I guess it's all the more reasons I need to return these." She puts down a set of keys on the dining table, then grimacing immediately. "I wouldn't wanna know what you've done on this table, Alex."

Alex, still being used by Piper to cover her half naked form, just smirks. "Would you rather watch?"

"Tempting, but no, thanks." Laughing, the redhead bombshell turns to leave. "Oh, and by the way, Mal is in town and Fahri might drop by later."

It's only after the redhead slams the apartment's door shut that Alex turns to look at Piper, arms still holding her loosely. "Now... where was I?"

Piper does the public service by smacking Alex on the chin. Though still blushing, she can't help the small bubble of satisfaction of seeing Alex wince. "This is all your fault."

"Oh, pardon me then for not being able to reign myself over the temptation of kitchen sex."

"Do you even realize how embarrassing it is to be seen naked—"

"Half naked."

"— _half_ naked by a stranger?"

Alex raises an eyebrow.

"And who the hell is she and how could she have the key to _your_ apartment? Do people just barge into your apartment and that’s fine with you?"

Alex raises the other eyebrow.

"Alex!"

The jerk laughs a little, arms now loosely around Piper's waist. "Okay, if you're more interested in talking than fucking, let’s. First, am I embarrassed? Fuck, no. And you shouldn't, too. You're sexy. Why should you be embarrassed? And you certainly didn't complain last night," she pauses for a while then adds saucily, "not even once out of seven times." Seeing that Piper blushes even more, Alex leans to kiss her hair. "And two, she's a business partner who used to live like a leech here. I'll introduce you someday."

Piper wants to ask if it's common to give _a business_ partner a key to one's home, but Alex steps closer, now fully pressed against her front with her chin on Piper's shoulder. Sighing, she relents and winds her arms around Alex shoulders. "Let's just have breakfast."

Alex helps her hop down from the kitchen counter, which Piper will never see the same way again, and retrieves Piper's shirt from the floor. She waits until Piper finishes making herself decent before leaning to steal a quick peck on the lips. "I'm serious, though."

"About?"

"You being sexy."

She's supposed to be immune to this jerk's advance by now, right? Nope. Not happening. Not even close, it seems. Why is this jerk so irresistible again, she wonders. "Are you always this flirty so early in the morning?"

"I'm not flirty," Alex rebuts. "I'm direct."

"Can it."

=.=.=

Redhead ex-housemate near-disaster aside, Piper seems to strike another bad luck with another redhead that day. The fact that said redhead being her best friend since high school doesn't help when Alex doesn't even bother to hide her dislike to one Polly Harper.

Well, imagine her gigantic, tremendous, colossal surprise— _sic_ sarcasm, of course—to find that the feeling is mutual.

"I'm being pissy because you're seeing an asshole."

Great. Now she has to defend her asshole of a—what? Fling? Fuck buddy? Girlfriend? _What_?

Polly glares at her, waiting for her response.

"I think you're overreacting a bit," she says, then adding a little jab, "Molly."

Her best friend rolls her eyes. "There's a weird energy in here—not to mention she's loaded and she's—what? Like thirty?"

Truth be told, that she doesn't know either. Charming Jerk is definitely in for a thorough interrogation of the _innocent_ kind later.

"Trust fund?"

Trust fund? Okay. Well. "No, she imports... things." She forces herself not to wince at the lame last word. _Time to fight back, Chapman._ "I can't believe you're giving me shit for this. You dated your teacher."

"Adjunct professor," Polly corrects her.

_Oh for fuck's sake._ "I. Really. Like. Her." Which, in normal Piper Chapman standard tone, should not be interpreted as nothing but Back. The. Fuck. Off. She's sure Polly knows it as well.

Knows but isn't convinced, apparently. "Do you like her... or her things?"

Now this is starting to annoy her. "Oh, I get it. You're feeling threatened."

"Oh Jesus, fuck off. I'm just looking out for you."

"Well, don't," she finally snaps. "I'm happy."

"Well, then don't expect me to be there when you're not happy anymore," Polly bites back.

Bitch masters the art of snarking, Piper thinks, rather amused. But of course. Bitches of a feather flock together. That’s why they’re best friends. "Okay, I won't." But Polly really is her best friend, and she loves Polly for sticking by her. "But you will be." She smirks—not yet with a masterly performance like Alex, though. That woman's smirk is of an unworldly level. "Because you love me."

Good ol' Polly sighs in defeat, smiling in return. "Of course I do, you stupid lesbian."

"You spoiled bitch." Her smirk blooms into a full grin. And hey, a little bragging will do no harm, right? So let's. "I came seven times last night."

Polly's expression turns from relieved to horrified to deadpanned and finally to disgusted from the purposeful TMI moment. "Well, that's just excessive."

She relishes in the turn of events, but she can't help stealing a glance or two at where Alex has disappeared earlier to play hostess for an ominous looking man. Fahri, Alex has introduced him earlier. Her business partner. Yet those two look like people with, quoting Polly, loads on their shoulders. No, she's _not_ jealous—not of the redhead girl from this morning and surely not of one Mister Mustache. Why should she? Alex is gay with a capital G, so Piper doesn't have to throw a hissy fit about Alex’s _male_ business partner. Right? Right?

Well, perhaps a little fit will do. Later, that is.

Thus that's why post-party she's approaching the capital G gay hostess who's slouching on her much prided Italian leather high-back chair in that corner she names her Thinking Corner.

"Hey," she begins.

Alex opens one tired eye. "C'mere." She waves a hand. "Did you enjoy the party?"

"You sure know how to throw a party." She sits on the armrest, half of herself over Alex's side, one of Alex's arms circling her waist. Touching feels good, yes. Alex touching her feels good, yes. "Tired or drunk?"

"The latter," Alex says. "And spare me the sobriety lecture, please."

"Says someone who finished the whole champagne bottle and still couldn't refuse another," she counters. "Do you always drink like that?"

"I'm not an alcoholic, if that's what you think."

"Drinking straight from the bottle, I mean. But thanks for the clarification."

Alex turns to snicker into Piper's side, her face burrowed in the lapels of Piper's loose fitting dress. "Only around people I'm comfortable with."

The easy answer doesn't quell the urge to throw a fit, though. "Polly doesn't like you, you know."

"Yeah, and the sky is blue."

Her arms drape themselves over Alex's shoulders, fingers freeing Alex's hair from multiple hairpins and intricate sweeps that make her Bettie bangs. "You didn't have to be so hostile."

"She didn't have to be so judgmental." Alex curses under her breath. "You yuppies and your shitty, narrow view of the world."

Huffing, Piper shifts to straddle her capital G gay and capital S stubborn lady. "How old are you?"

"Legal for drinking." Alex's eyes narrow behind her glasses. "What fucking brings this up?"

"Because I don't know you." She cups Alex's face in her hands. "God, I don't know anything about you. Not your age. Not your favorite books. Not your favorite authors. Like, I only know one because you called me Laura Ingalls Wilder9 the first time we met. And definitely I don't know anything about your job and your—what—business partners? I don't know a single fucking thing about you, Alex. It's like—it's like you just came storming into my life and became this—this pimple that refused to pop."

Alex blinks once. Then twice. Then laughs heartily. "Fuck, Pipes. A pimple? Really? I... take that as a compliment? Now that's a monologue worth your theater degree."

Is there any other way to get back at this drop dead frustrating, irresistible jerk besides kissing her? No? Okay.

_You're just looking for justification to kiss her,_ her mind provides.

Partially correct, Piper thinks. Because—well—a major point of liking Alex's touch is liking her kisses, too. And who is she to refuse? Drunk or not, Alex does master the art of lip locking just like Bruce Lee does the art of kung fu.

And not to mention her tongue.

Because. Jesus. Yesss. Preciousss.

Sadly, it is Alex who breaks the tongue kung fu. "Wanna move this to bed?" she offers. "Unless you're inclined to christen my Thinking Corner as Copulating Corner."

Still a bit breathless, Piper steels her will. "You're not getting away from this."

Sighing, Alex slides lower into the chair, legs now straightened and hips pressed against Piper's. Her mouth is set in a grim line. "I'm twenty-eight—and about to be twenty-nine in three months, but don't even try to give me a birthday present, thank you very much. My favorite author is Jared Diamond. I already told you I like non-fiction better, but since I met you, I've started reading fiction as well, Laura Ingalls Wilder included." She dons a thin smile now. "As for my job, I told you from the very beginning."

Piper is silent for quite a long time. "So that wasn't a joke? You're really working for an international drug cartel?"

"Pipes, I may have to run and hide, but I'll never tell a lie."10

That somehow inadvertently breaks the tense atmosphere. "Did a strict law enforcement wizard tell you that you must not tell lies?"

"What?"

"Uhm— _Harry Potter_? The latest book?"11

"Christ, can’t you be more WASP-y?" Alex groans and drops her forehead onto the dip between Piper's collarbones. "No, I took that from a Japanese cartoon." Alex lays an open-mouthed kiss on Piper's left collarbone. "Are we done talking?"

"One more thing." She pulls Alex back to her eye level, earning a groan and a glare. "You're not doing anything harmful, are you? Like—fuck, Alex. If you're dealing heroin or cocaine—I can't imagine—fuck."

"Technically, I don't even deal with the stuff. I'm an importer, not a dealer."12

She frowns. "It's like saying you don't drink alcohol, just champagne."

"Okay, look," Alex cuts, rather impatiently, taking off her glasses and hanging them on the low curve of her already low-cut dress. "I'm not trying to take advantage of you, so here's what it's like. I'm not gonna put you in danger. You're attractive, you're smart, and I'm interested in. _You_. Nothing more, nothing less."

Piper is silent again. "Is this you being direct again?"

Alex is now sporting that butterflies-inducing smirk again. "This is me being flirty."

"Well," Piper drawls coyly, a finger pulling down the strap of Alex's dress, leaving her left shoulder bare and her breast peeking from the fabric, "I happen to appreciate a direct flirting." She peppers a series of kisses on the beginning swell of Alex's breast, nipping the pale skin after.

"Fuck you, minx," Alex breathes out.

"Fuck me indeed," she replies, "before I fuck myself."

Alex’s hands are now tight on Piper's waist, pulling Piper's dress up and slipping beneath it. "Let's see if I can make a new record tonight."

"Or," Piper balances herself by leaning forward, resting all her weight on Alex, "let's see if I can settle the score."

Alex's laugh is thick with drunkenness and arousal. "Is that a dare?"

"Well, since we've both taken truth, it only leaves us with dare, right?"

"You bet."

Truth, too, is best served with Alex on top, she learns.

=.=.=

**== Five. Sleep Late Afternoons ==**

_How do you explain living with Alex Vause?_

Piper stares and stares at the still blank page of the list of pro and con she is trying to make. Apparently, half an hour sitting in unusually quiet Four Barrel isn’t enough of a force to get her brain running. Pathetic, she thinks. She is in the heart of creativity, good ol' San Francisco, and she can't even produce a word. Jack Kerouac surely is laughing at her from his grave.

Exhaling loudly, she crumples her note and grabs her purses for some bucks to leave for the tip. Four Barrel is Alex's favorite coffee shop, and she is even friend with some of the crew. While Piper herself adores Blue Bottle's Kyoto iced coffee more, she wouldn't want to be seen as rude by the crew in Four Barrel.

Oh hey, that's one to put on the con, she thinks. She and Alex are two citizens of two different worlds. One always wakes up at five for a run, the other never a morning person. One is willing to stand in line a bit longer for good brunch, the other always grumpy and quick to think of other alternative places. One doesn't mind walking for thirty minutes from their apartment in Lower Pacific Heights to The Mission for a great cup of iced coffee, the other frequently complaining that iced coffee is an abomination. Lastly, one is downright rooting for Blue Bottle, and the other for Four Barrel. Ha! That! Every San Fransiscan knows that the coffee shop rivalry is like choosing to worship Madonna or Cindy Lauper in the 80's—no in-between.

Wait.

Their apartment?

She frowns. Does that boar head on the wall just smirk at her?

Their. Apartment.

The boar head is now grinning.

Suddenly the coffee feels lodged in her throat.

_Jesus, don't freak out now, Chaps. It's already been two frikkin' weeks. You have flat out lied to your mom, saying you're moving for a travel writing job. You have decided to go with her. You have decided to know her more—in the biblical sense. And dear God, is she amazing at knowing you. You don’t freak out now._

She really wants her mind to shut up. Can it? No?

_Nope. I'm you. And you, me. What I say, you say. What you feel, I feel._

Her inner battle is interrupted as said person discussed knocks on the window next to her from outside. Alex gives her a sign to get out, and Piper is never happier to be distracted from her thinking. Almost rushing, she leaves her wooden chair and once outside, out of habit now, tiptoes to kiss Alex on the cheek, deliberately missing the corner of Alex's mouth by an inch.

Alex smirks. "Somebody needs to aim better."

"Somebody needs to be home more often so I can practice my aim."

"But it seems you've got a way to enjoy the time in my absence." Alex starts leading them to leave Four Barrel. "Fancy seeing you in here instead of in Blue Bottle."

"Just not in the mood for standing in a long line."

"Never heard you complaining about your favorite before."

"Of course. The complaint has always been coming from you."

Alex's smirk gives way to a grin. "I'm loyal to a fault—even about my coffee."

"Hence your name, Alex Fault."

"Haha," Alex deadpans.

She can't help her smile. God, how did she survive for a week without this? This easy banter, this presence that's irritating and comforting at the same time, this person?

They reach the parking lot and get Alex's rental car to drive home. The Mission is rumbling with summer energy, and in every corner she can see couples being affectionate. Straight and gay alike. Elderly and teen alike. Just... people. How human, Piper thinks. How normal.

The car stops at a red light, and Alex reaches over to open the compartment in front of Piper. "I believe this will be perfect for you," she says, taking out a bud of gardenia and slipping it in Piper's hair, just above her ear. Admiring her handiwork, Alex lets her fingers linger on Piper's ear. "And I'm right."

Did an invisible hand just switch on the car heater, Piper wonders. “Thank you, Scott McKenzie,” she returns.

The light turns green, and Alex's hand is back on the wheel. The drive home from The Mission only takes fifteen minutes, but Piper is suddenly enveloped by nervousness—which, according to her mind earlier, is pointless. This is not the time to freak out, after all.

"I'll probably be leaving again in a couple of days, though."

"What?" Piper whips her head around a little too quickly. "Where?"

Alex shrugs. "Bali, Indonesia."

"Oh." She looks away. "That's a nice island down the equator, I heard."

"Yeah."

_Fuck._

"Hey," Alex finally says, reaching out to stop Piper's hand from slipping her hair behind her ear for the seventh times in less than ten minutes. "What's wrong?"

"I'm thinking of getting a haircut," she says. "Summer is hotter here than in the Northeast." Then she adds, "I tried to tie my hair earlier, and I looked like a fucking founding father."

Alex laughs softly, and the sound soothes Piper’s nervousness a little. "Washington or Adams?"

"Benjamin Fucking Franklin," she grunts just at the same time Alex turns to Franklin Street from Geary Boulevard.

Alex parks in their slot in the apartment garage. It is only when Alex heaves her luggage from the trunk and exhales loudly that Piper can see how tired she is. Her movement is sluggish, and her shoulders are tense. She guesses it has something to do with whatever Alex does in Oakland prior to today, but she doesn’t ask. She never does, and she knows Alex never wants to be asked.

In the elevator, Alex leans against the wall and slings an arm casually over Piper's shoulders. "Any plan for the rest of the day?"

She gives Alex the once-over. "Not really," she says. "I wouldn't want to have you slam your face onto your plate during dinner."

"Why, thank you for your concern about my facial health," Alex returns. "What about tomorrow?"

"The weather channel says it's gonna be raining. I'll just stay at home."

Alex nods. "So... nap now?"

She pokes at Alex's chest. "You nap." Then she pokes at her own. "I read."

"Spoilsport."

Piper rolls her eyes. "Your poor fake pout won't work on me."

Alex drags her luggage behind her after Piper opens and holds the door to their apartment. "Then," she drawls, "what about this?"

A blur, a pounce, and the next thing Piper knows is the whole weight of a sneaky 5'10" jerk tackling her onto the couch.

“Alex!”

Loud laughter rings in the apartment—Alex's and, unintentionally, hers as well.

“Good grief, woman,” Alex says between chuckles. “Did you eat anything lately? I swear you're thinner than a cardboard figure.”

For some reasons, she doesn't even want to struggle against Alex's arms around her midsection, but she ends up doing so. Freeing herself, she sits up, and Alex follows up with a mock coo. Alex rolls onto her back and folds her arms on her chest, still wearing that infuriating smirk, but within minutes she's fast asleep.

"Jesus," Piper mutters. "And to think I let you drive us home in this condition."

She plops onto the chair next to the couch. Now without Alex's incessant bantering, she gives in again to the demand of her train of thought.

Five months. Five long months.

And what exactly does that mean? Well, let's start with a couple of days sexing her life up with a long interval of horrible home alone-ness. First, it's Greece. Then Benin. Then Oakland. Alex works, and she waits. Damn it. She's _not_ a dutiful wife, for fuck's sake.

She sighs.

Haircut first, then. Think later.

And think later she does, because even Alex has to do a double take when she sees Piper enter the apartment.

She winces. "Too plain?" Maybe letting go of the curls is not a good idea.

Alex, freshly showered and dressed in a loose black shirt and pants, adjusts her glasses and stands to approach Piper. Her fingers seem to be on their own volition to run through Piper's hair, now in waves rather than in curls. "Aren't you gorgeous?" she whispers, kissing Piper's hair.

"I stopped by Sociale." Piper raises the food bag she carries. "Tomato and burrata salad for starter, then smoked fettuccini with sea urchin, smoked bacon, and soft quail egg. Dessert is cinnamon bombolini."

Alex's appreciative moan is almost pornographic on its own, and it gives Piper a shiver. How on earth this woman can skin-shift from an overgrown party animal with a terrible fake pout to a sex-on-legs bombshell is beyond her.

In some kind of repetition of one of their earlier dates, they're back on the couch with dinner and TV again.

"So how's Oakland?"

"Boring," Alex answers flatly. "What do you expect? It's all fucking work. You? Visiting any interesting place?"

"De Young, the MoMA, the Legion of Honor, couple of cafes."

"Been to Haight-Ashbury? That'll meet your latest interest in everything hipster."

"No."

"Not yet," Alex corrects, playing with a small sliver of smoked bacon on her plate. "God, Sociale food is such an orgasm in the mouth."

Piper chokes on her salad.

Alex turns to fully face her, grinning. "Too vulgar for you? Would you rather use 'coming?' Or 'ejaculation?'

"Really?" she asks incredulously. "When we're eating?" She stands up, gathers her plate, and leaves the couch. "Let me know when you're an adult again."

"Oh come on, Pipes."

"I'm taking a shower." To add a dramatic effect, she gives Alex's shin a light kick.

"I'm not invited?"

"This," she points at her own curve, "is R-rated material."

The door to the bathroom slams shut as Alex's laughter echoes from the living room. Cursing the jerk who can make sexual innuendos with a straight face, Piper looks at herself in the mirror.

Another point to add to her Alex is Good for Me list: _this_.

She can't lose _this_. Not now.

_And what is_ this _, actually?_ her mind asks.

_I don't know,_ she replies. _And I don't want to know now. I don't need to know now. I can know later._

She takes a deep breath.

_All that matters is now._

Now or never, right?

Alex has already migrated to bed by the time Piper finishes her shower, book in hand, serious Barnes and Noble's reader-of-the-month expression on her face. With Benny Latimore's13 voice from the radio and the way Alex sits on the bed, Piper can almost see her in a different lifetime: a bookish scholar-poet with an undying affinity for vinyl records, part of Kerouac's Beat circle, and one of a few pot-smokers who attended Woodstock without wanting to rage against the established government.

"You want me to put your laundry in the closet?"

Alex only gives an affirmative mumbling, not even looking up from her book.

Well, Piper thinks. Now or never.

Hips first. Then ass. Then back to hips again. Then ass again.

And that gets her what she wants. The imaginary bookish scholar-poet with an undying affinity for vinyl records needs to be adjusted to the imaginary bookish scholar-poet with an undying affinity for ass.

She throws a sultry look over her shoulder, and the soft thumping that comes as Alex closes her book sounds like a victory bell.

"Get over here."

That heated look behind the glasses. That desire in Alex's darkened eyes. Hot. The room is so hot now. Too hot.

Off with the shirt, then.

Alex mouths, 'Come here.' Her finger, her oh-so talented finger curls in a come-hither motion. Fuck. Piper wishes it curls _inside_ her already. And Alex's eyes—double fuck—they're on her like a bird of prey's, a ravenous predator's.

She plasters herself onto one of the bedposts. Alex still doesn't make a move. Fucking black widow plays it cool, but oh how Piper loves this game of tempt-and-run.

"Are you gonna miss me?"

Alex doesn't even hesitate to answer, "Yes." Her eyes can't decide whether to stay on Piper's chest or ass. She shakes her head a little as if to clear her mind. "Too much." Then she adds without missing a heartbeat, "Come with me."

"What?"

"Come to Bali." Firmer this time. More resolute. More of a demand than a request. Alex reaches for the radio's remote control, turning down the volume of Latimore's voice to a mere whisper. She takes off her glasses, and for a moment there's not even a flicker of lust present in her eyes. "Come with me. I mean it. I'll buy you the plane ticket."

She rustles to get to the bed, kneeling before Alex. "Are you serious?"

Then it's back again. That predatory look. That hungry eyes. That pure sex smirk. This fucking hunter. Piper holds her breath in anticipation.

Alex shifts to equally kneel, facing her. "Yes." A kiss at the top of her bra-covered breast. A gentle push on the small of her back, making her straddle one of Alex's thighs. "Quit your job. Come with me."

"Wh—I," she pauses, "have to give a notice."

A snicker, not unkind. A pull on her hair, not ungentle. "You're a fucking waitress. You don't have to give a notice." A kiss on her left cheek, not impatient.

"Will I get in trouble?"

Alex pulls back. "God, I hope so." Another snicker, more playful than amorous. Then it's her lips dancing on Piper's shoulder and her hand teasing Piper's right breast.

She can't help an involuntary moan. "You know what I mean."

Alex's fingers sweep her hair to the side of her face. God, does she love Piper's new haircut, really. "You don't have to do anything." Her other hand creeps to squeeze Piper's ass, and the hand in Piper's hair leaves to play with the strap of her bra. "You're just there to keep me company."

God, Piper wants so much, but even through the haze of arousal, she can see that Alex wants even so much _more_.

"Alright?"

Alex leans forward for a kiss, her thigh between Piper's legs pressing deliciously against her center. The hand on her ass presses Piper even closer, controlling her movement as one kiss becomes two and three and four and uncountable. Her other hand sneaks towards Piper's shorts.

_Jesus—_

"Come on, babe. I want you to come."

Piper opens her mouth, ready for a comeback, but then Alex's lips are on her neck and her hand dips deeper into her panties and into _her_.

"And I want you to _come_."

— _Chriiist._

Then as quick as Alex's hand introduces itself to her core, it disappears. She's playful, taking her time, waiting. And Piper knows what Alex wants. What she wants. What they both want.

An answer.

An answer that she breathes out amidst gasps and muffled giggles.

Alex rears back and cups her face in her hands. "Yes? Is that a yes?"

There's a bright flicker in Alex's dark eyes that Piper includes in the this that she doesn't know now, the this that she doesn't want to know now, the this she doesn't need to know now, the this she can know later. Oh for Kerouac's sake, to hell with it. Now _is_ now.

"Yes."

Alex dives in to kiss her hungrily like she can't get there any faster, any closer, any deeper.

" _Yes_."

Fingers on Alex's face, she takes the control from Alex—albeit momentarily; she knows it only happens because Alex relinquishes it.

"Jesus, Pipes." Alex leans backward a bit, giving Piper more reasons to press herself to her. "You fucking tease."

"It's the food," she breathes against Alex's mouth. "Blame the Italians." Alex half laughs and half moans, but the laughter dies in her throat as Piper grabs her hand and shoves it back into her panties. "Touch me now. Touch me like you mean it." Alex's fingertips find her clit, and Piper only jolts forward in more want, more need. "Make it fast." Two fingers slide inside her, and Piper throws her head back to let out a load moan. " _Faster_." And it's not enough. Not even close. So she presses Alex's hand down with hers, working herself over together.

She hears Alex moan her name. She's dizzy. She's burning.

"More?"

"I don't care—just—"

Alex feasts on the column of her neck, baring her teeth and biting down the flesh none too gently, drawing a long string of curses from Piper. She trails a wet, hot line towards one of Piper's breasts, and she pulls down the bra to enclose a nipple in her mouth.

"Fuck!"

And _there_!

She jerks with a cry, clenching and unclenching around Alex's fingers, clutching Alex's head to her chest, elbows digging into Alex's shoulders.

Bless the Italians for the food, the hairdresser for the new haircut, and this jerk for an orgasm like nothing else.

She's still trembling from the aftermath when Alex calls her name. "Yeah?"

"As much as I like being smothered with your tits," she says, her voice laced with good humor muffled against Piper's skin, "a little oxygen would be appreciated."

Piper lets go with a breathless chuckle. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Alex steadies her with a hand against her back, her hold gentle despite her still too warm palm. "I like it when you're hot." She kisses Piper's temple, right on her hairline.

"Only when I'm hot?"

"I can like you too when you're warm and cold."

"Are you sure?" She rubs Alex's shoulders where her elbows have dug in an apologetic gesture. "Think you can handle it?"

That smirk is back in full force.

"But look at you." She purses her lips in playful mockery. "Why are you still fully clothed," she pauses to peel down her bra and ruined shorts, dangling said bra with a finger in front of Alex's face, "when I'm _not_?"

In a swift move, Alex hooks an arm around her shoulders and flips their position. Piper lands on her back with a soft thump, winded, Alex hovering above her. "Well," Alex drawls, "since you ask nicely."

A small laugh escapes her. "I'm merely practicing 'Ask, and you shall receive.'

Alex lets out a chuckle. "For an atheist, you're pretty knowledgeable about the Scripture."

She winds her arms around Alex's neck to pull her down, closer, closer. "For a giver, you certainly haven't lived up to your title."

It's there again—that bright flicker in Alex's eyes.

But it can wait, Piper decides, as Alex leans down to meet her in a kiss. It can wait as the two of them roll away from each other much later in the wee hour of dawn, sweaty and slick and sated. It can wait as Piper climbs her way up Alex's body to drop one more kiss, just one more kiss on that brilliant, talented mouth. It can wait as Alex nearly loses her balance and falls off the bed when she's trying to untangle herself from the damp bed sheet, and Piper has to grab her by her ankles and boasts that she now holds Alex's Achilles' heel.

It can wait as Piper wakes up very late in the afternoon and finds Alex's arm draped over her waist, the radio airs a soft-spoken song, ' _I wake with you, I feel your coat, sleep late afternoons,'_ _14_ and outside fog rolls into rainy San Francisco.

It can wait as Alex, still claimed by slumber and fatigue, tightens her hold around Piper, feels more than sees, and whisper-breathes, "Go back to sleep."

It can wait.

_How do you explain living with Alex Vause?_

For now, Piper thrills.

=.=.=

**== Six. Nearsighted, So Much Closer ==**

It is rare, if not impossible, for Piper, a light sleeper, to wake up later than Alex does.

Yet here she is, awakened by soft grunts coming from the foot of the bed, and when her hand reaches blindly to the side, Alex isn’t there.

“Alex?”

“Yeah?” comes a rough voice between the soft grunts.

Piper throws away the blanket and crawls to the end of the bed only to find flexing biceps, sleek back posture, and impressive derrière. What a sight to wake up to, she thinks. “What’re you doing?” she asks—and immediately realizes how stupid it sounds. Of course she knows the answer. Push-ups always look like push-ups everywhere. Duh. “I mean, why the sudden mood for exercise?”

“My mom called. She forgot the three-hour difference, and I couldn’t fucking get back to sleep.” Alex continues working on her series of push-ups. “Decided to let off some steam.”

She rouses from the bed, bringing herself closer to Alex and only stopping when she’s standing astride her, legs on each side of Alex’s hip. A nudge to Alex’s pelvis makes Alex pause. Then she bends and sits on Alex. She grins. “Proceed, please.”

Alex fakes an annoyed look that she throws over her shoulder. “Woman, you’re fucking sitting on my ass. How the hell am I supposed to proceed?”

“That’s the point. I heard it’s even better with some extra weight.” With her palms on Alex’s shoulder blades, she presses down and leans forward to kiss Alex’s nape. “And I happen to know that you have rather remarkable... stamina.”

“Get off of me.”

“Try me.”

A hand thrusts out, grabbing a hold of Piper’s arm, and in a swift move of hip twist and torso shift, Alex pulls her aside, lands her on the Turkish carpet, and pins Piper with her body.

If anything, the sudden pounce only makes Piper laugh. “Get off of me.”

Alex’s smirk is in full force. “Try me.”

One of them may do the leaning down and the other the pulling down, but the two of them do the clashing of lips, teeth, and tongues together, excellently, very excellently. That is, until Piper breaks the kiss, pulling back, smiling, and Alex’s smirk softens into a lazy smile.

“Good morning,” she says. “Is everything okay with your mom?”

“She’s fine.” Alex shrugs, adjusting her position so now she’s sported on her elbows. “Just sprained her ankle. Said she put some ice and it’s getting better already.”

She nods. “You never talked about your mom before.”

“You never asked.”

“Would you tell me about her if I asked?”

Alex shrugs again. “Perhaps.” She kisses Piper on her cheek. “Now, as much as I love to continue this wrestling, I’d like to point out I’m sweaty and sticky.”

If that’s a diversion, Piper knows better than to prod Alex further. “I like you sweaty and sticky.” Her hand starts slipping under Alex’s tank top.

“Are you sure? Because sweat consists of not only water, but also lactate and urea. You know, gross stuff.”

Piper deadpans in a second. “Now you’re sweaty, sticky, and gross.” She makes a move to stand and leave.

“I’m kidding and I’m gross now?” But the jerk doesn’t even try to hide her amusement, that is. Superjerk.

Piper glares at her.

“Hey, why the sudden mood swing? One minute you’re all happy and horny and the next minute pissed.” Alex sits up, but doesn’t really try to stop Piper. Superjerk sure knows how to rile her up and enjoys the hell out of it, doesn’t she? Supercunt. “Where are you going?”

“To my happy place.”

Alex opens her mouth to say something, but she changes her mind quickly and smirks. “Am I invited?”

Piper wonders if she’ll ever get immune to that sultry, liquid sex voice. Because—well. Reasons.

_Not in this life, I think,_ her mind supplies.

_Not in this life, I agree,_ she replies.

“Try me.”

Which, she thinks, isn’t exactly enough of a challenge for Alex, who knows how much she enjoys a long shower, warm bath, and first-rate companion. Who knows how to rile her up in less than five minutes and to soothe the irritation better than a paramedic tends to a burn mark. Who knows which hidden alcoves in the Presidio are secluded enough for a quickie—Piper will never live it down, though. Who knows how get the corner back row seats in the legendary Balboa Theater for a heavy making out session as Christina Ricci and Jason Biggs act out a forgettable scene in a Woody Allen not-so genial movie.15

Who, despite all the bugging and teasing, knows how to slip into the shower quietly, smiles softly, and touches her gently.16

Alex guides Piper’s hands to rest on her shoulders as her own hands settle on Piper’s hip and thigh. Breaking the kiss though still keeping herself pressed to Piper, she murmurs, “Aren’t you going to welcome me?”

“Welcome to my happy place,” she mumbles against Alex’s lips. “You’ll make nice permanent part of it.”

“Mm-hm.” Alex’s hand inches to get to between Piper’s legs, her mouth swallowing Piper’s gasp. “Good to know that,” she whispers in Piper’s ear, her tongue then flicking the shell of said ear. “Fast or slow?” Piper gasps again as she clutches at Alex’s shoulder, her other hand a tight grip on Alex’s upper arm. “Babe,” Alex uses that nickname again—the second time after that night Piper seduces her, her breath hot in Piper’s ear, “touch me, too.”

The Nabokovian fire of her loins burns even hotter at that, and the fire of Alex’s loins on her fingers doesn’t help to appease the hunger. She comes first, and Alex is not too far behind. Dear God, Piper thinks as she notices Alex’s wet hair slicked to the back—some in the tight grip of her own fingers, the veins in her lean neck made visible, her clenched jaw, her flushed cheeks, Alex is beautiful when she comes.

Then, as if reading her mind, Alex breathes in her ear, “You’re beautiful when you come.”

Alex’s eyes on her are clear, so clear.

=.=.=

September is somber in the US.

The subdued mood shrouds the nation as tribute to the 9/11 tragedy is nearing, and even merry San Francisco is not exempt from it. To make it worse, Alex’s Indonesia plan suffers a major halt as Jakarta is hit by a massive bombing in early August17, which the US government reacts to by issuing a travel warning. Considering that the bombing happens only a few days before a trial for the even more massive Bali bombing the previous year18, even the higher ups in Alex’s ring doesn’t want to take the risk. They’re still going to Indonesia, Alex says, but they’re not going to wrestle their way against stricter security. In her line of work, subtlety is secrecy and secrecy is success.

On the brighter side, it buys them some more time in San Francisco, somber as it seems for Piper—and tense as it is for Alex.

“We’re going to leave your car here.”

Alex glares at her.

“You know your glasses aren’t the only thing that’s anti-glare, right?” She points at herself.

Alex curses under her breath. “If you want to be a fucking plebeian, fine.”

“Well, the MUNI is very reliable, and it’s not like we’re gonna walk our way to death.”

“No, we’re just gonna walk our way to fucking cramps and varices.”

Ah. See? That’s another reason why challenging Alex is so rewarding. Superjerk can be downright stubborn, but she knows when to let Piper have fun and keeps up with her—though not without grumbling.

_It’s the grumbling that makes it more thrilling,_ her mind says. _She’s a challenge for you, and you enjoy the thrill._

_Amen_ , she replies dryly.

Thus she can’t help chuckling when Alex makes a face at a book cover on display in Bound Together, Haight-Ashbury.

“Now I need bleach for my eyes,” Alex groans and takes off her glasses.

“What?” Piper takes a glance at the unfortunate book. “Oh. Pee-pee?”

If anything, Alex turns green.19

One of the bookstore crew, a lanky boy barely twenty, seems to find their situation in need for help. “You guys okay there?”

“She’s fine,” Piper answers, rubbing Alex’s back in what she hopes a soothing manner. “Just a bit uncomfortable with that over-Photoshopped giant vein-popping penis cover of that book.” She points at the book that becomes Alex’s source of misery.

The shop assistant eyes the book then Alex, grinning. “I see. You’re that kind of girl.”

“What?” Alex snaps.

“A lesbian who hates dicks.”

“Like you?” Alex taunts.

“Hey, no offense. I come in peace.” The shop assistant raises his hands, now laughing. “I mean, a lesbian who’s grossed out by, quoting your girlfriend here, over-Photoshopped giant vein-popping penises.”

Piper chooses to let that girlfriend quip slide, but she readies herself for another smartass comeback from Alex for the shop assistant.

Which, surprisingly, only comes mildly as “For the same reason you’re not participating in _V_ _agina_ _M_ _onolog_ _ue_?” followed by a shared sarcastic laugh between Alex and the shop assistant.

It’s Piper’s turn to grimace. Jesus, these people. Doing it is one thing, but saying penis and vagina in one breath? So much for swirling, really.

She half-drags Alex out of the bookstore without buying anything and only stops when they reach a bus stop. “Now let’s go find some bleach for your eyes.” Then she notices it. “Hey, wear your glasses. I wouldn’t want to be your guide dog.”

Alex raises her eyebrows and plucks her glasses from her head. “I’m near-sighted, not blind.”

“Blindish, then.”20

“Oh fuck off.” Nevertheless, Alex puts on her glasses. “I need them to see distant objects. I can see you just fucking fine because you’re only a foot away.”

“Oh.” She thinks for a while. “Okay, what about this?” She stretches her arm and wiggles her fingers from afar. “How many fingers you see?”

Alex rolls her eyes and smacks Piper hand. “How old are you? Five?”

“And a half.” She laughs. The bus they are waiting is approaching. “Speaking of which, you’re not allergic to avifauna, aren’t you?”

Alex stands behind her as they get on the crowded bus. She looks at Piper suspiciously. “Where are we going now?”

“You’ll see,” then she finds the need to add, cheekily, “not blind lady.”

Alex rolls her eyes once again.

They have to change bus before reaching Telegraph Hill. As they get off the second bus, Alex seems to realize where Piper is bringing them. “Oh my god. Don’t tell me you want to feed the fucking parrots.”

“I want to feed the fucking parrots,” she parrots.

Alex groans. “I’m not fucking walking all the way up the fucking hill just for fucking parrots.”

“Too old for a slightly challenging walk, grandma?”

Alex flips her off.

“Oh come on.” She decides to take matters into her own hand and grabs onto Alex’s left arm. “We’ll walk there, we’ll feed the parrots, and we’ll go home and have crazy sex.” Then Alex can barely hide her amusement, and it’s only then that Piper realizes she’s not the one who’s steering the game. Fucking manipulative, fucking cunning, fucking shrewd jerk is. “ _You_!”

“Me,” Alex says.

“Fuck you.”

“Later.”

“Double fuck you.”

Alex laughs, but she keeps Piper’s hands on her arm. “You need more practice before mastering the mind game,” she pauses, then adding for good measure, “kid.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Alright, five-and-a-half kid.”

“Ha-ha.”

“Hey, you should be glad. Only people of Ingrid Bergman’s caliber deserve such nickname.” As Piper’s face twists in confusion, Alex’s twists in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you haven’t seen _Casablanca_.”

“Uhm—no?”

“Are you for real?” Alex groans, letting go of Piper’s arms. “Theater major, Smith grad, committed bookworm Piper Chapman? Never seen _Casablanca_?”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

Alex looks like she’s torn between throwing Piper over her shoulder then making her watch _Casablanca_ a hundred times and throwing Piper onto the ground then punishing her by fucking her until next year. _The latter, please,_ Piper thinks. _Jesus, if this is what it does to her when I don’t know things, I’d rather be dumb._

_You_ are _dumb_ , her mind grabs the opportunity to pipe up. _Don’t you realize it? You’re a challenge for her, and she enjoys the thrill. I don’t know if that makes you two a fucking matching pair or just plain stupid pair._

_Would you just shut up? And we’re not a pair._

_Why yes, and I can smell in that Egyptian river from here_ , her mid concludes.

The parrot-feeding fiesta is said and done with Alex’s fingers getting plucked by two female parrots and Piper’s hair missing parrot shit bomb by an inch.

“We’re not gonna do this shit again. Ever,” Alex says on their way home. “Those fucking feather monsters so in love with my fingers must be lesbians.”

True to her words, Alex pulls up Netflix for _Casablanca_ instead of going straight to Piper’s promised crazy sex. The only redemption for missing sex is that the movie lives up to its reputation as one of the greatest movies ever made.

“Did you use to have a crush on Humphrey Bogart?” she asks as the closing credit rolls.

“Jesus, no.” Alex chuckles. “On Ingrid, yes.”

She nods. No surprise there, yes. “I can see why you regard this movie highly.” She nods again to herself. “It’s... good.”

“It’s fucking brilliant.”

“You’re such a sapiosexual,” Piper comments dryly.

Grinning, Alex taps her temple to agree with Piper’s statement. “That makes the two of us.”

With the TV off and the bedroom light back to its normal brightness, it’s suddenly too quiet it’s unnerving. Hello! Can the jerk say something? Why is she suddenly quiet? Piper doesn’t’ deal well with silence. Hellooo!

“So,” she begins, rather awkward, “sex?”

“Vermont.”21

“What?”

Alex takes off her glasses, cradling them with both hands as if weighing them. “My mom.” Exhaling softly, she turns to look at Piper. “She lives in Burlington, Vermont. I bought her a house there a couple of years ago.”

It’s no longer unnerving; it’s weighing. Why? Why now? Jesus.

Alex lets out a quiet chuckle. “We used to live in Chicago22, and I fucking hate that city. Vermont is a nice change. My mom loves it there, you know. But she’s still fucking working in Ben & Jerry’s though I tell her not to.” Her eyes meet Piper’s. Without her glasses and with this proximity of shoulders and arms touching, Alex looks younger, not as loaded, less burdened.

She’s not that near-sighted, is she?

“Your turn.” There’s hesitation in Alex’s voice, subtle but there.

“I—well, my mom lives in Connecticut after my parents got a divorce. My dad is a lying drunkard. I have a brother—younger. Cal. He’s—uhm—eccentric.”

Alex nods. “Okay.”

And Piper doesn’t know how to continue but says, “Thank you. For telling me, I mean.”

Alex’s smile is a tad sad if not tainted by wistfulness, but it’s her way to say she’s welcome, Piper knows.

And she knows why. She knows why now.

“You’re not that near-sighted, aren’t you?” She’s not talking about eyesight, really.

Alex’s eyes on her are clear, the clearest Piper has ever seen.

“Here’s looking at you, kid.”23

=.=.=

**== Seven. Alex in the Sky with Diamonds==**

“Do you have some kind of bucket list?”

Alex looks up from her suds-covered hands, pausing in her elbow grease task of scrubbing the bottom of a pan—courtesy of their kung pao chicken dinner last night. With her hair tied loosely, worn t-shirt, and distressed jeans, she no longer looks like a poster girl for rebellion.

_Because she looks so domestic now?_ her mind, as usual, decides to jump in without an invitation, and Piper almost winces. ‘Domestic’ is hardly an existing word when one has an Alex Vause in mind.

Alex purses her lips, seemingly in thought. “Well, kinda. Why?”

“Of places to visit?”

“Of places to visit, stuff to do, people. Yeah.”

“People to do?”

That earns her a smirk. “Among other things.” Alex hands her the pan to be rinsed, drying her hands with a paper towel then. “You?”

“I have a rather long list,” she admits. “Typical fresh graduate, you might say.” She’s been dreaming of places she only reads in books, and Alex’s account of being a female version of Phileas Fogg only fuels the dream even more. And it’s not because she wants to boast to her friends. Her bucket list is her personal reminder of her longing to taste that glimpse of freedom and nonconformity of life. And while her bucket list is a non-animated reminder, the way Alex lives her life is an animated, living, breathing reminder to Piper.

_She’s everything you want to be,_ her mind paraphrases. _Or at least what you_ think _you want to be._

_She’s everything I_ know _I want to be,_ she corrects, then adds, _minus the drug-dealing part._

_Even this... more domestic side of her?_

This time she does wince. After all, it’s one of the thoughts she puts on hold; it’s one of the things she decides she can wait to know. And for crying’s sake, waiting does not need a reminder. Instead, waiting needs a distraction so it will not materialize itself in life. And where’s the goddamn distraction, a.k.a. the dishwasher, now when she needs it? The goddamn dishwasher apparently does not want to cooperate with her as it remains not working even after she presses the start button several times. “Fucking useless broken piece of advance technology,” she curses under her breath. Bending down to check the dishwasher, she peeks inside. Nothing moves. The dirty plates are still dirty, the now grease-free pan still needs to be rinsed, and the wine glasses are mocking her with their glint of wine remains.

Beside her, Alex chuckles. “Let me see.”

“You know how to repair a dishwasher?”

“Not exactly repair, but when you’re living on your own, you gotta need to know your way around home appliances.” Alex opens the dishwasher door and bends at the waist. She reaches inside, fumbling with a panel or so. A minute later, Piper hears a soft buzz, and Alex closes the dishwasher door. “And that,” Alex bends down again to peeks inside the dishwasher, which is working now, “is something you don’t get to learn in college, Miss Smith graduate.”

Sweet baby Jesus in the manger. If Alex bends again and puts her glorious behind on display, Piper may not be able to restrain herself from jumping her. What an animate, living, breathing sex on legs. A much, much better distraction than a dishwasher. Seriously.

“Earth to Piper?” Alex waves a hand in front of Piper’s face.

She swallows and decides to game. “And what else do you not learn in college, Miss Fixer?”

There’s a flash of surprise on Alex’s face before it is swiftly replaced by a more familiar expression of desire. Good. That Piper can handle. That Piper can want—safely, rewardingly, mutually.

“A fuckload.” Alex pulls her closer with a finger on one of Piper’s belt loops.

She steps forward, standing between Alex’s open legs and pressing Alex backward until the back of her thighs hit the edge of the dishwasher. “I have no doubt that you know your way around the world and home appliances.”

“Mm-hm.” Alex’s arms are now loosely circling her waist. “I also happen to know,” she whispers in Piper’s ears, her voice deeper, “a hundred and one ways to make you come without having to have you in bed.”

Piper’s knees almost buckle, but she soldiers on. “And won’t you be interested to know how much I’ve learned about that?”

“Tease.” Alex half-chuckles and half-moans, clearly amused and aroused. “Why don’t you show me?” She takes one of Piper’s hands and presses it against her lower abdomen, her palm warm against the back of Piper’s hand. “Start slow.” Their fingers crawl together under Alex’s t-shirt. “You know how much you like touching. You know how much you like touching _me_.”

“I can’t help it,” she replies, lips and tongue teasing Alex’s earlobe. A small lick here, a small nip there. Alex shudders and moans, and Piper grins in elation. “And you can’t help it, too.”

Alex’s chuckle reverberates in their bodies. “Why should I?” She tilts her head aside, returning Piper’s attention to her ear to the column of Piper’s neck. A small lick along the vein, a small nip on the spot under her jaw. Piper, too, shudders and moans, and when Alex pulls back, Piper can see that her blue eyes are dark, intent and purposeful. “I like your body, and I like it even more when it’s with my body.”

Piper’s mouth pulls up in a surprised grin. “You read e.e. cummings.”

“Old pervert has an appropriate name, “Alex says. “And you read Neruda. I have to level up the nerd game.”

She’s about to compliment Alex, the self-proclaimed non-fiction reader who only used Shakespeare to kiss her for the first time, when her fingertips meet slick, wet heat. “Oh my god,” she moans.

Alex’s mouth is cool and heated at the same time on the joint between Piper’s neck and shoulder. “Bet you’ll feel the same if I touch you now.” She opens her mouth, clamping on the skin. “Wet.” A teasing bite. A soothing lap. “Hot.” A suckle. A press of smiling lips. Piper pushes inside Alex with a finger, and they both moan at the sensation. “Tight.” Alex smirks against her cheek. She raises a leg and hooks it around Piper’s hip, tugging her closer. It is their coordinated motion that accidentally presses the start button of the dishwasher again. “ _Fuck_.”

Piper scrambles to unhook Alex’s leg and reaches blindly to turn off the dishwasher, but Alex stops her midway. She hops onto the dishwasher, letting the vibration of the gadget aid Piper and makes herself available to any ambush Piper has in mind.

“Let’s cross one item off of my bucket list,” Alex says.

_Did she—_

Fuck.

Fuck Alex Vause and her run-but-not-lie policy. Fuck her and her blatant boldness and brashness. Fuck her and her ease at being comfortable with herself. Fuck her and her confidence, her brilliance, her fucking _everything_.

_And fuck_ you _if you don’t find them all the more enthralling._

Piper flips off her inner voice and drives herself faster onto and into Alex, who has just admitted one of her bucket list items so casually and tips her head back and moans like a pro and makes Piper’s ears bleed from all the passion and want and need and— _Jesus_.

The vibration of the dishwasher and Piper’s work altogether careen Alex off the edge. She lets out a growl when she comes, her hands on Piper’s ass practically plastering Piper to her front, legs hooked at the ankle at the back of Piper’s thighs. Her eyes are shut behind her askew glasses, her cheekbones taking that hint of blush, a small cry choked to die in her throat. Alex is really beautiful when she comes, Piper thinks over and over. Alex is always beautiful.

Alex kisses her cheek after she comes down from her high, and her eyes light up as Piper’s arms rest around her shoulders.

“Really?” Piper can’t help chuckling. “A dishwasher?”

“Well, we basically have nothing to do until our flight to Bali.” Alex joins her in her laughter, knocking a knuckle once on the now quiet dishwasher. “Wanna try the washing machine later?”

Ooh. Tempting, tempting. “And the patio?”

“Only if we can start crossing items off of your bucket list, too.”

Alex, Piper realizes, has kaleidoscope eyes when she laughs.

=.=.=

Truth be told, Alex is right when she says they have nothing to do until Bali. Piper has taken all the necessary vaccines recommended by the CDC, all the TDaP and MMR and Hepatitis A and B and even flu shot. _Because you can never be too sure_ , Alex says. She has packed some clothes into a small L.L. Bean duffel bag. It exactly consists of her running gear, a pair of black cowboy boots, a pair of silk pants, a tank dress, blue jean cut-offs, three t-shirts, a red silk shirt, and a black miniskirt.24 Alex has rolled her eyes at the content of her bag, saying, _You really have no fucking idea what to pack, don’t you_ , but she hasn’t made Piper repack. She has even called Polly to let her know of her whereabouts for the next few months, of which Alex simply comments, _Why don’t you go tell your mom, too?_

“So,” she begins, looking at Alex, who is perched on the edge of the bed.

“So,” Alex echoes.

“I’m good to go.”

“You’re good to go.” Alex nods. She gives a light kick to Piper’s duffel bag. “And if there’s anything you need, we can just buy them on the road.”

“On the road,” Piper muses. She scoots over to sit beside Alex. “Have you ever, you know, felt like a Sal Paradise? Like, you know, standing at the dividing line between the East of your youth and the West of your future?” She frowns at that. “No, wait. Scratch that. I _am_ more like Sal. You’re more like Dean.”

“I’m sure you have a perfect book analogy for every situation, Kerouac geek,” Alex says dryly. “And to answer your question, no. Never.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s somebody else.” Alex shrugs, light-hearted and nonchalant. “I can’t be somebody else or go on somebody else’s journey.”

It takes some time for her to digest before she finally says, “Okay.” Then she says, “So... we have a day left. Any suggestions of what to do?”

“Fucking and more fucking?”

She in reflex punches the jerk in the arm. “Must you always be so crass?”

Alex gets a hold of Piper’s fist. “Sex and more sex, then?” She laughs and earns herself another punch. “Ow. Geez, Pipes. Must you always be so abusive?”

“I’m a somesthetic person. I depend a lot on my tactile perception.”25

“Oh okay. You and your GRE vocabulary. Should I say wow now?”

Chuckling, she leans towards Alex so that her back now is halfway to Alex’s front. “You know I like touching you.”

“And I, you.”

“Nymphomaniac.”

“At the moment, I’m more like Pipermaniac.”

Now that’s an admission that takes her out of the blue. “What?”

Alex, too, seems to be taken aback herself. “What?” Her voice is slightly a pitch higher than her normal register, and Piper notices it as well. Then the next second Alex’s eyes are once again wicked and haughty. Her fingers are now grazing the underside of Piper’s right breast. “I didn’t hear a no.” She shifts from sitting next to her to straddling one of Piper’s thighs to sliding lower and lower. “Yeah?”

Piper can feel her cheeks burn as Alex plays with the button of her shorts, pulling the zipper down, caressing the skin previously covered by the waistband, resting her chin on her folded hands as she kneels between Piper’s spread legs.

Alex takes off her glasses and places them on Piper’s hand, curling her fingers around Piper’s. “Don’t break them,” she says before leaning forward and placing an open-mouthed kiss on Piper’s bellybutton.

_Funny_ , she wants to say. _You’re the one who breaks me with your seduction._

Alex hooks her thumbs on the edge of Piper’s panties and slides them down her thighs.

_And in your seduction of me, you’re both persistent and patient._ 26

If she is not wet before, she definitely is now, and Alex makes sure to show how much she enjoys making her so. When the first lick comes, it’s soft and tentative. The second, firmer. The third, slipping between her folds. The fourth, slower, way slower, sliding from near her entrance to circling her clit. The fifth, however, doesn’t come as Alex just _stops_.

She wants to recite the litany of Saint Alex Vause the Patron of Orgasm Giver—one that consists of _don’tstopdon’tstopdon’tyoudarefuckingstop_ —but decides to practice her belief in show-don’t-tell instead. A fistful of Alex’s hair in her hand, tendrils of that dark beauty between her fingers. A gentle nudge, soon becoming an insistent push. A press. A request and a command altogether. She is putty in Alex’s hand, and Alex is putty in her hand. Metaphorically. Literally. Orgasmically.

_And that’s why you motherfuckers deserve each other,_ her mind says.

_Fuck off_ , she seethes. _Fuck labels and all their glory. Whatever this is, this is. Whatever this is, so be it._

Her orgasm is an unraveling of the tight knot in the pit of her stomach, a thundering heart against the cage of her chest, a spiraling over the edge as she crashes down the waves of pleasure. Alex keeps her tongue moving, waiting until the last tremor passes through Piper’s body, only stopping and pulling away afterward. She crawls up, pulling Piper’s panties and shorts away completely with her toes—even her toes are _that_ functional, Piper vaguely notices—and pushes Piper back onto the bed with her torso.

“Hey,” she says, always a master of seeming effortless.27 “Still alive?”

Spent, Piper hums an affirmative response. “Horribly.” She cups Alex’s cheek with a hand, and Alex turns slightly to press a peck against her palm. “You have beautiful eyes,” she says. “You’re a girl with kaleidoscope eyes.”

Alex laughs softly. “My name isn’t Lucy, kid.”

Piper laughs as well and pulls Alex down for a kiss and another and another.

In her other hand, she doesn’t break the glasses.

=.=.=

From San Francisco to Paris and finally to Denpasar: that’s how they do it.28 They have a lay over in Paris for a few hours before boarding on a Garuda Indonesia to Bali. Charles de Gaulle is as hectic as ever, Alex says, but Piper falls in love immediately with the airport’s avant-garde design—has, in fact, always been ever since she sees U2’s _All That You Can’t Leave Behind_ album cover and its hit _Beautiful Day_ video clip in 2000. She also bemoans the fate that she can’t be in Paris, and Alex simply answers with a promise to take her to Paris one day. She’s almost become incensed at that, because one does not make light of Paris. Doesn’t make an empty promise on Paris. Doesn’t mess with Paris, period.

Alex makes a cross in front of her chest. _Cross my heart and hope to die,_ she says.

Piper thinks, waywardly, that to die in Paris is, borrowing The Smiths’ words, such a heavenly way to die.

Their Garuda Indonesia’s first class seats provide them everything they need to entertain themselves in a 13-hour flight. Piper immerses herself in her copy of _Lonely Planet: Bali and Lombok_. Alex browses through the plane’s movie collection and lets out a not-so discreet yelp when finding _Private Benjamin_.29

Piper eyes the movie on Alex’s screen. “Goldie Hawn? You’re really a sucker for old beauties, aren’t you?”

“I like her daughter more, to be honest,” she says, grinning. “Come on. You can see de Gaulle’s famous escalator tubes in this.”

Right after the scene where Judy Benjamin walks out on Henry Tremont at the altar, she very nearly jumps as Alex’s hand slips beneath the thick duvet and into her jeans. “The fuck, Alex,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “We’re on—”

“A plane, exactly.” Alex smirks. “One more item off of my bucket list.”

She opens her mouth to protest even more, but there’s a delicious press of Alex’s fingers on all the right spots down there and what comes out is merely a choked moan. Well. The light is dim. Nobody’s going to catch what they are doing under the safe cover of the duvet. The first class cabin is only shared by two other elderly couples and a dozing man. And she can be quiet, yes. She can.

It’s a slow building towards a pinnacle with Piper using Alex’s shoulder to muffle her voice, a hand clutching at Alex’s sleeve and the other clawing at the side of Alex’s face, almost knocking off her glasses. _Come on,_ she silently demands. _Don’t leave me like Judy leaves Henry. Don’t fucking leave me high and dry. Don’t—_

Her final gasp is swallowed in Alex’s mouth as she tenses, shudders, and comes noiselessly.

She is wondering if someone can die from having too many orgasms and is still trying to regulate her breathing back to normal when she feels a kiss on her hair and deft fingers touch her nape. Then there’s a cold sensation around her neck.

Alex smiles at her when she opens her eyes.

She is wearing a necklace adorned with a dark-colored diamond pendant.30

“Wh—”

“Do you know that the English word _diamond_ comes from the Greek word _a_ _dámas_?”

Bewildered, she looks at Alex, fingers on the pendant.

“Got that flown from Santorini for you.”

Sweet baby Jesus in the manger and the shepherds and their white sheep. Damn Alex fucking Vause and her timing for everything—this flight, this necklace, this sprout of random word etymology, this whole Vausian lure. The jerk remembers, doesn’t she.31 Piper isn’t sure whether to weep in joy or scream in joy or just straight gratitude-fuck Alex in joy. Each will likely get her thrown out of flight, really. She ends up leaning her head on Alex’s shoulder, closing her eyes, breathing in Alex’s distinct scent, smiling, whispering a soft _thank you_.

Later, Alex will wake her up as the pilot announces that the plane is about to land in Denpasar’s Ngurah Rai Airport. Later, Alex will turn to look her in the eye and say, “Welcome to Bali, kid.” Later, she will look out the window of their cab and sees temple-like houses, intricate banners, tiered offerings, and miles of paddy fields—a real life reminder of the dream egg she is cracking.

Later, she will find out that _a_ _dámas_ means ‘unbreakable.’

Now, it’s enough with Alex’s warmth and Alex’s laugh and Alex’s kaleidoscope eyes.

=.=.=

1� From memoir! _Orange_ : it's the car that real life Alex (Nora) drives.

2� From memoir! _Orange_ : that's the original duration of real life Piper and Alex (Nora) are in world trip together.

3� From memoir! _Orange_.

4� TV! _Orange_ , 1x03, the bar scene where they first meet ten years prior to the prison time. Judging from this detail, I take it that TV! _Orange_ takes place in 2013 instead of 2004 like memoir! _Orange_.

5� From TV! _Orange_ , 1x06.

6� From memoir! _Orange_.

7� From memoir! _Orange_ : real life Alex (Nora) goes to Benin to see the drug lord whom her sister is dating and that's when she starts her drug-dealing business.

8� From TV! _Orange_ , 1x02: I'd say that the embrace Alex gives her visitor is rather intimate, don't you think so?

9� From TV! _Orange_ , 1x03: their first meeting in a bar.

10� As said by Duo Maxwell in _Mobile Suit_ _Gundam Wing_.

11� _Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix_ was first published in June 2003.

12� Another difference TV! _Orange_ makes from memoir! _Orange_. The book mentions that real life Alex (Nora) also dealt heroin sewn into the lapels of her suitcase. I guess the adaptation is needed because the situation is so much different in the 90's.

13� TV! _Orange_ , 1x01: the song that plays when Piper stripteases is Benny Latimore's _Move and Groove Together_.

14� From Gregory Alan Isakov's _San Francisco_. A truly gorgeous song, but I'm taking a creative liberty of using this because the song is released in 2007 while this fic takes place in 2003.

15� _Anything Else_ (August 2003)—in which Jason Biggs stars as a struggling writer in New York with a girlfriend who’s afraid of commitment. Rings a bell?

16� TV! _Orange_ 1x01.

17� Jakarta’s J.W Marriott Hotel Bombing, August 2003.

18� Bali Bombing I, October 2002.

19� TV! _Orange_ 1x08: Nicky makes a joke about blowjob and Alex shies away.

20� At best, nearsightedness is only my guess. In TV! _Orange_ 1x06 Alex can see Nicky’s scar without her glasses but not the retreating Pensatucky after her glasses are smashed in the bathroom in 1x09. She also often takes them off especially when talking closely to people.

21� Memoir! _Orange_ : the real Alex (Nora) is arrested in her villa in Vermont.

22� Memoir! _Orange_ : the real Alex (Nora) is described by Piper Kerman as “Midwesterner.” Chicago is the “safe port” where they fly for Brussels. I’m taking the liberty to make this Alex’s hometown.

23� From _Casablanca_. Humphrey Bogart’s Rick says that to Ingrid Bergman’s Ilsa. Speaking of which, _Casablanca_ tells a story of a man (Rick) who’s torn between his old flame (Ilsa) and his work (his duty to help the Allied Force in WWII). Again, rings a bell?

24� The duffel bag and its detailed content are from memoir! _Orange_. Piper Kerman even mentions that aside from having no idea of what to pack, she’s also too excited she forgets to pack a bathing suit.

25� TV! _Orange_ 1x10, in a way it’s the impression I get when Piper says, “I can’t get through this without somebody to touch.”

26� Memoir! _Orange_.

27� Memoir! _Orange_. During what Piper Kerman calls “a secretive courtship,” this is her assessment of real life Alex (Nora): “witty, charming, and a master of seeming effortless.” I like how Jenji Kohan and co and most importantly Laura Prepon translate that to screen.

28� Memoir! _Orange_.

29� TV! _Orange_ 1x12, mentioned when Alex defends Piper for getting Pensatucky out of psych and having to do janitor duty in return.

30� TV! _Orange_ , 1x11, the one Piper wears in their two scenes in Paris.

31� See Chapter 2.


End file.
